


Accessories

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crack, F/M, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam hates his ocd need to pack for all emergencies, and most of all, how he ever thought a Sexual Experimentation Crisis Pack might ever be needed at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is mostly because of this photo and his STUPID bag that features more often than it should and tweeting silly things at **ladauphineff** and **mycrookedsmile** and then **coolbreeeze** jumping in with Pablo. And the twitter account that tracks him. . .
> 
> huge thank you's to Brie for being the editing queen on this and my Su for cleaning up the rest of the comma's and THINGS. Of course any other glaring mistakes are obviously my own ;o)

Liam wants to die.

He just wants to _die_.

They’re stuck here in this tiny, _tiny_ cabin and it’s dark apart from the glow from the one buzzing, flickering bare bulb above that is sure to burn out soon and they’re all probably going to die anyway, but Liam wants to die _now_.

All of them, all five (well, six if you count Pablo—but all he keeps saying is "Que?" and the bastard isn't even Spanish!), are so stuck they aren’t going anywhere. Niall's claustrophobia is setting in, and Liam just wants to die because Louis has Liam's bag. Liam's bag that may have made him flush bright red like a tomato three hours earlier when he smiled at the security guard and sort of said something like “There’s five hundred quid in it for you if you ignore the contents” and stepped one foot further down the rabbit hole by officially bribing customs. The same bag that Louis has and now it’s open and the others are all quiet and Liam wants to die, all right? Walk out in that blizzard and die, because Harry is looking in there and his face is this mixture of awe and wonder before he says a word.

Then he _does_ speak, and Liam wants the ground to swallow him whole because "What the _hell_ do you need seven types of lube for?”

Liam wants to just crawl out into the dark and cold because Louis is smirking. "Oh, bacon-flavoured—never tried that one, Haz!"

Or maybe throw himself into the ravine they narrowly missed because Zayn is swinging two sets of fluffy handcuffs around one finger and it’s so fucking _hot_ the way the zebra print looks against Zayn's tan skin.

He just wants to die, okay, die, because Niall is actually perking up at the edible candy body paint.

So Liam does the only thing he thinks he can do. He stares at Pablo, who stares back and says,

"Que?"

Liam hates his OCD need to pack for all emergencies, and most of all, how he ever thought a Sexual Experimentation Crisis Pack might ever be needed at all.

. . .

It’s all Danielle’s fault, really.

Or maybe it’s Louis’, with his innuendos. Or maybe it’s Harry’s and how he likes to _touch_ Liam on stage—or maybe it’s Niall’s and how he licks his pink lips, or Zayn’s eyelashes. He has the longest, fullest eyelashes Liam has ever seen and they make his eyes so damn pretty.

But Liam’s fairly certain it’s Danielle’s fault, all the same.

They’d been dating a while. Long enough for that awkward first time where there were fumblings of “That is _not_ the right hole, Li,” and “No, oh _fuck_ no, not that, either” (that should have been a clue, really). And then they got better (he discovered how good foreplay could be for her, even if it did leave his ears ringing and end in a nosebleed on his part more than once—dancers could _really_ move their hips). And then things got really good (she liked being tied up, and then he discovered how much more fun it was when she tied _him_ up. And then . . . well, then things went a little further.

“You didn’t like it?”

She’s not touching him, and he wouldn’t like it except right now he has the sheet pulled up to his neck and he’s burning holes into the ceiling with his wide-eyed stare. He grunts (whimpers) some sound in return and she sighs, and the mess of her curls features for a second in the space of his stare.

“It’s okay if you didn’t. I mean, not all guys do, but when I’ve blown you before and had my finger around there you’ve been fine and I just thought—” She pauses and he tries to steady his breathing that is still coming in short, sharp bursts, less to do with the after-effects of his orgasm and more to do with the _why_ behind it.

“Oh,” she says, and then she laughs and stops and Liam’s eyes bug out of his head because she’s got her hand to her mouth now, and although the sound of giggling has stopped he can still see the laughter in her eyes. There are a few minutes of silence between them that pass as slowly as decades before either of them speak again.

“You’ve never?” she says, making a circle with her thumb and forefinger on one hand and wriggling a finger from the other through the middle, Liam can literally feel the blood rushing to his face. He shakes his head from side to side so hard and with such ferocity that the shape that is Danielle blurs into this fuzzy blob.

“Oh,” she says again, and Liam closes his eyes because if one of those freak accidents like a crate of Coke falling out of a plane and slamming through his roof and pinning him to the bed or something like it could happen now, it would be for the best all around.

“I just—I guess I thought you and Zayn—” and Liam does open his eyes then and stares at her, glares really, because—

“Me and _Zayn?_ ” he squeaks, incredulous. Liam follows most of the tumblr-created hype and understands more than most of the rest of the boys do what Lirry or Zouis or even Nosh means. He might have read a fanfic or two and been curious (ignoring the twist in his gut when it involved particularly detailed kissing, because if there was one thing Liam loved to do it was kiss), but that didn’t mean he wanted to _do_ anything in those fics with his band mates. After reading one particularly hot (and strangely accurate) story about them measuring their dicks (which they may have done, but they were mostly drunk and it was Louis’ fault, really) Liam might have sort of wanked to it a few times, but—

“Zayn’s finger and my arsehole have never been that well acquainted, thank you _very_ much!” Liam says with far less squeak and much more squawk in his tone.

Danielle lies back down beside him, her head on the pillow beside his own but still not touching Liam completely, and he kind of loves that she knows he needs his space. “Okay. I’m sorry if I freaked you out, then, babes. I just forget sometimes how new you are to all of this.”

And she says it so _nicely_ and it’s so _caring_ that Liam gulps and squeezes his eyes shut again, because how did he end up with a girl like her? And not in any bad way, not at all; to the contrary, really. It’s not as if Liam hasn’t had his share of partners. He’s had lots of sex, thank you, lots of great sex and bad sex—but everyone has _bad_ sex. And it’s not as if Danielle is a slag, either. She’s had rather few partners in comparison, but the ones she _has_ had have been . . . experienced. Well, maybe not experienced, but creative? Which means Liam has benefited from a few things (her lack of a gag reflex, the thing she does when he’s balls-deep inside of her and she’s riding him and she doesn’t even _move_ but he can _feel_ her).

He’s also felt a little out of his depth with others (that time she wanted him to spank her, that time he came home after being off with the boys at the studio and she’d converted his whole flat into this jungle so he could play Tarzan to her Jane). Or like this time, where he’d been quite happy fucking her into her second orgasm of the night and her hand had travelled down his back and down and down and then her finger was _inside_ him and _pressing_ and Liam saw stars and sort of felt amazing yet slightly violated at the same time.

“I really think, babes, it would be a good idea while you’re off touring and such that you start, well, exploring on your own, you know?” she says, and there’s this warm breath on the one part of his shoulder that’s uncovered before her lips press hesitantly against his skin. Liam shivers because he sort of likes that idea.

“Not that I want you fucking _any_ one, mind,” she says, her teeth pressing slight indentations on his upper arm. Her hand has also somehow snaked its way under the sheet he thought he had suctioned onto his body as a second skin after rolling off her in shock earlier. “But if any of the boys were up for it, or if you happened by a sex store and wanted to try—I wouldn’t be angry, babe. It would turn me on, I suppose.”

He doesn’t exactly agree to it, but he doesn’t exactly vehemently disagree, either. He just sort of nods or whimpers some more as she scratches lightly over his stomach; his cock twitches with an interest it shouldn’t have, considering how mixed up his head is right now. But it does and then she’s stroking him and she’s under his sheet, and then her mouth—well, Danielle may be many things but she really is rather _good_ at giving head.

. . .

So maybe it’s Danielle’s fault. Or maybe it’s Niall’s.

Niall and their first trip to Sweden and the gay bar Harry convinced them to go to. It could have started there. Niall and too many bloody pints and kissing. The kissing . . . .

Now, looking across to where Niall has uncapped the edible finger paints and is currently making quite the artistic piece on the wide expanse of Harry’s shoulders while Louis is just stares at the gimp mask while his free hand toys with the attachable leash is a good indicator of how it’s not Liam’s fault at all that he’s in this situation. 

Well, maybe a little because it’s _his_ bag, but _they_ are the ones getting more use of out of its contents than Liam has.

Yet.

Zayn is still spinning the handcuffs but his eyes are _black_ as he stares at Liam. so Liam ducks his head, cheeks flaming, and directs his stare at Pablo, who is blinking and looking none the worse for wear (apart from the bandage they made out of Louis’ scarf wrapped around his head).

“Que?” he says again, and Liam can only murmur the same in return.


	2. part two

Niall bloody Horan.

The little blond Irish man is the reason the bag is actually a _thing_ —a well-filled-with-sex-stuff _thing_ , at any rate, because Niall is the one who told him to live a little. And maybe at the time Niall was halfway to completely rat-arsed drunk, or maybe it was the fact that they were all together in this underground sort of gay bar in a semi-seedy part of Sweden after skipping out from security all ninja-like (though Liam had known Paul was always in the background like the hulking statue of Adonis that he was).

Or maybe it’s because it’s the first time he’s actually seen Louis and Harry together more than just the all over each other octopuses (octopi? octoped?) in probable love and actually _on_ the dance floor kissing like nobody was watching. A lot of people are, even Liam; because they might be his friends, but _wow_ can they kiss. And Liam likes kissing, and maybe he starts thinking about which of the three of them would be better at the whole snogging thing because from where he’s sitting (at the bar, not drinking) it looks like Louis uses a lot of tongue and maybe Harry is a bit _too_ into biting Lou’s bottom lip and drawing it out, but then, that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Wanting to try out kissing two of his best friends purely for experimental reasons would be viewed as strange, right?

“Nah, mate. I can tell you honestly that Harry is the better at giving a good snog. Not as great as Zayn but, fuck, you know Zayn.” Niall shrugs and knocks back the last of his pint and nods to the barmaid, who he’s been eyeing all night. Liam’s mouth drops open because he doesn’t even remember saying anything out loud.

“Zayn?” Liam asks because of all the other questions currently whirring around his head, like _What do you mean you’ve kissed them all?_ and _Zayn is better? Of course he is!_ or _And where was I? Didn’t you want me there?_

Niall takes a few seconds to answer because he’s doing that weird twitchy-eye thing with the red-haired barmaid as she leans forward and puts down another pint, and even Liam can see what colour her bra is (bright blue with yellow polka dots) and he’s not looking. On purpose. But fuck, they are _right there_. So he waits for Niall to stop doing the eye tic he obviously thinks is flirting (and judging by the paper with her number he is now slipping into his tented trouser pockets, it must work). Then Niall makes him wait even longer and Liam is starts to get a little antsy himself because Zayn has popped back into his periphery, dancing with his hands in the air and looking like a sort of dark-haired, long-limbed, truly hopeless on the dance floor sex god, and Liam sort of can’t stop staring.

“Well, you know,” Niall says with a shrug of his shoulders and a weird movement with his hands. It’s the only answer Liam gets from him before Niall’s chugging back his beer again. Liam drags his eyes away from where he’s not focusing on the way every time Zayn moves his body to the right, a sliver of his skin, shiny with sweat, is revealed at the base of his spine when his white shirt rides up. Not that Liam is noticing but he is, because Zayn is _right there_. He’s merely watching because it’s obvious that the dance lessons Danielle had given them all one afternoon over a bbq and vodka watermelon that Harry and Lou brought along have paid off. If he’s staring longer than necessary it’s purely to take down some mental notes with his eyes on how Zayn’s hips move and how he seems to be listing to one side more than the other. 

Liam’s stomach does that weird tugging flip thing and he pushes his one drink away and focuses back on Niall. “What do you mean?” 

Niall looks at him then, turns away from the barmaid (which is probably great for the other patrons; a few have been saying things in Swedish to them that haven’t sounded friendly) and tilts his head to the side, blond hair curling at his forehead, his bright blue eyes utterly focused on Li. “ _Zayn_ ,” he says with a raised brow, and this is probably meant to be enough, but then it is. For an entirely different reason.

Because Zayn is now wrapped around Niall very much like how the octopus twins were before (octopussies? He really will need to Google that when he gets back to the hotel). Zayn is all over Niall, fingers twisted into Niall’s hair, and it looks almost painful the way he’s gripping Niall’s face, long fingers disappearing into sweat-darkened hair and thumbs pressed deep into Nialls’s flushed cheeks and, well, kissing him.

And not just kissing. It’s more than the erotic play that Harry and Lou were showing off before. This is all encompassing _possession_ , and the twist that Liam had had down low in his gut before has sharpened or melted because his whole being is sort of shaking and the blood pounding in his ears is beating in time to _want, want, want. _And Liam can’t blink, can’t move or giggle awkwardly or shuffle in his seat because he’s fairly certain he’s hard in his pants. Then Zayn is pulling off and Niall is blinking as Zayn finishes off Niall’s beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a seductive way that Liam doesn’t understand.__

Fuck, he doesn’t understand much of what’s going on here tonight. Zayn turns and blinks at Liam, though it’s more this slow, lowering flutter of his lashes and a smirk. Then he presses his lips to the corner of Niall’s lips and his hand is at Niall’s waist; a quick squeeze and he’s back out on the floor.

It leaves both Niall and Liam a little breathless, but while Liam is trying to figure out what the hell just happened and why Niall doesn’t look as dazed or confused as he is, Niall goes back to flirting with the barmaid, who looks even more ready to leap the counter and do _things_ with him.

She nods to the side of the room where Liam knows there is a coat check and Niall finally remembers Liam is there—gives him a bit of a wink and a pat on the leg.

“YOLO, you know,” he laughs. Liam is like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as Niall leaves and the redhead follows not long after.

So Liam isn’t sure if the “you only live once” was directed at the spectacular snog he witnessed or if it’s to do with Niall having a shag in amongst their coats, but he doesn’t have time to think about it now. There’s no time for reflection or even a little bit of deconstruction on the night so far, because Harry is hugging him on one side and Louis is on the other and they’re _so drunk_. Liam’s part of this octopus sandwich and the boys’ hands are _everywhere_ and Harry is whispering things about how pretty Liam’s eyes are and Louis is biting at Liam’s _ear_ , which is making his knee jump, and this is just too much.

But somehow he manages to get them all out of the bar—four very drunk, very handsy, and apparently kissy band mates in tow and back to the safety of their hotel without too much fuss. (He may have had to pay off their cab driver and he may have seen more of Tommo’s arse than he _ever_ wanted to, but that’s neither here nor there).

It wasn’t until he’s finally shoving Niall and Zayn into their shared room and off to bed that he realises Zayn wasn’t _quite_ as drunk as the rest of them. They’ve both just finished giggling at Niall tripping over his own shoes in the hall when Zayn turns to face Liam at the door. His hand is cool on Liam’s cheek as he brushes his knuckles against Liam’s cheekbone, Zayn’s eyes darker than Liam was used to as he leaned in. Liam’s heart rate might have spiked and he might have licked his lips because, well, Danielle had to mention that _thing_ about him experimenting with Zayn and Zayn was so close, and he still smelled so good under the dirt and smoke from the club and countless other colognes from whomever he’d rubbed up against while dancing. And on top of it all there are Zayn’s damn eyelashes doing that slow flutter thing again, and all Liam can see on repeat in his mind is how plump and plush Zayn’s lips looked when he kissed Niall and how that would feel and maybe he’s going to actually _know_ that instead of thinking about it like he hasn’t been able to _stop_ doing since he saw it. He can hear Danielle’s voice in his head telling him to experiment and, and . . . .

But there is no kiss, just Zayn and his smile and “Thanks, Papa Payne,” and he shuts the door, leaving Liam with a hard-on that actually hurts. Liam doesn’t understand why he feels so disappointed that he didn’t warrant a peck from his friend when it’s so obvious that all of them have kissed one or the other or had a freaking orgy of lips on lips and never invited him.

All is forgiven the next morning when Niall wakes him and drags him out shopping—retail therapy is the key word but it’s the _stores_ Niall frequents that has Liam blushing and stammering like a repressed Catholic schoolgirl as they enter sex store after sex store under the pretence of finding “really, really good porn.” Which ends up meaning “really, really filthy dirty porn of the group sex type.”

. . .

So really, as Liam watches Niall licking down Louis’ spine while Harry takes over the body paint situation and leaves multi-coloured hand prints over Louis stomach and chest and then around to where Niall’s shoulder is because Niall has dropped to his knees behind Lou to get his pants down further—maybe all of that makes Liam realise his current sex bag exploration embarrassment with the boys isn’t really as embarrassing as it should be. They’re obviously getting something out of Liam’s secret stash, and Liam’s getting to see things he normally wouldn’t (or isn’t supposed to), which he can chalk up to the “experiences” column he’s created specifically for Danielle.

When Zayn saunters over—with his bright, white, shiny teeth, which are looking more and more like the big bad wolf’s in Little Red Riding Hood than anything else— and reaches out to grab Liam’s hand and threads their fingers together, Liam doesn’t feel as awkward as he’d previously thought he would. He doesn’t feel wrong at all as Zayn guides them back to the one ancient brass bed in the tiny shack they’re sharing and nearly forces Liam down and then moves his arm above his head until Liam can feel cool metal behind his knuckles. He doesn’t notice much of anything else apart from what Zayn is doing or the moans he can hear from Harry or the strange Irish swear words he can hear from Niall or the soft giggles he can hear from Lou. He tries not to admit to himself that he’s a little ~~lot~~ turned on by what is going on until he can’t lie to himself any more.

It’s with the click of metal and a soft brush of fur against his wrist that he suddenly gains a little perspective and he’s not entirely sure whether Zayn’s smirk is friendly or predatory—but Liam kind of already knows which one it is more.

“Stay,” whispers Zayn, and Liam can’t even catch his breath to get a word out.

“Que?” he vaguely hears Pablo prattle, and he gulps because what—what, indeed!


	3. part three

Liam blames management for what happens next. 

Well, not entirely management, but it is their fault that all five of them were in France, anyway. But still.

If it hadn’t been for “safety reasons” (Twitter speculating that they were leaving from a smaller airport after their stay in the French Alps) that they couldn’t take the normal flight from Geneva, then they wouldn’t have been separated from their security detail. If they hadn’t been in France on a ski field faffing about for some behind the scenes documentary _thing_ management wanted to film (for “memories’ sake”—more like dollar signs, Liam had thought), then they wouldn’t have been flying into a snowstorm that turned into a blizzard. If they hadn’t been in a small six-seater (because it was the only thing fuelled and ready to go when the crowds surged forward, and Pablo had told them to run), then they probably would have _made_ it through the storm and not ended up making an emergency landing on the side of a mountain. If Pablo hadn’t bumped his head and started speaking only in Spanish (which, let’s face it, was increasingly strange), then the other lads wouldn’t have opened Liam’s bag while he was otherwise engaged with checking on their suddenly bilingual “chief wrangler of five idiots,” or whatever Pablo’s real title was.

So maybe it was Pablo’s fault, then?

Not that Liam could concentrate on Pablo much at all now that Zayn is above him, crouched over Liam on all fours as he secures Liam’s other hand to the bedframe. All Liam can see is how skinny Zayn has gotten recently, because his shirt has fallen forward and down the wide neckline Liam can make out the distinct lines of Zayn’s ribcage. Then he’s gasping because Zayn is sitting back right in the cradle of Liam’s hips and he _has_ to feel how hard Liam is when Zayn shifts back and smirks, _smirks_ at Li.

And Liam is back to wanting to die once more.

“Babes,” Zayn says, long fingers cupping Liam’s jaw, thumb rubbing affectionately over Liam’s chin. “It’s okay.”

Liam swallows hard because Danielle said to experiment and Zayn _is_ gorgeous and obviously into—stuff—and Liam is turned on and he’s wanting this, whatever it is, but . . . .

Then he can’t really rationalise his behaviour, or the others’, any more because Zayn’s face is sliding back into view, closer and closer until Liam can feel Zayn’s warm breath on his cheek, count those damn eyelashes one at a time if he wants. 

“We can stop. We can if you don’t want—”

But Liam _does_ want—well, he’s pretty sure he does. He lifts his head the small amount of space needed to press his lips to Zayn’s again. There’s nothing polite about this. Liam’s somehow decided to throw caution to the wind—embrace the “YOLO”, even—and take advantage of whatever is on offer. 

And right now he hopes it’s something wonderful and something that gets him off and hopefully gets Zayn off, because he’d really like to see that, he’s sure. 

Liam’s fingers wrap around the bars behind him; the metal is cool to his touch as his skin heats with every press of Zayn’s tongue inside his mouth. Niall was right about one thing—Zayn can _kiss_ , and it’s not like the displays he’s seen from Harry and Louis before. No, this is just—this is light licks at the roof of his mouth, soft presses that are would be almost teasing if Zayn didn’t go follow through with more, and then Zayn’s teeth scraping just so as he pulls back, taking the full part of Liam’s bottom lip with him. It’s sort of overwhelming and perfect, really, because Liam’s forgotten all about his hang-ups about doing anything like this with a boy—let alone a bandmate, let alone a best mate—and he’s just going with it all, enjoying it, even.

Well, enjoying it is a given because Zayn is treating him like he’s something precious, like this moment is one to be treasured, and Liam sort of likes that. He loves Danielle—he really does—and he loves each of the boys; but there’s always been something between him and Zayn, and close friendship doesn’t cover it. Once Zayn’s lips leave Liam’s, there’s no more thinking on what this may or may not do to said close friendship. once Zayn’s lips leave his, teeth nipping on Liam’s jaw and scrape over where his pulse is beating wildly under his skin. Liam turns his head to the side, giving Zayn more room as his mouth clamps over where Liam thinks his birthmark is, and his hips buck a little at the feeling. Danielle sort of steers clear of that patch of skin, and it means something that Zayn doesn’t. Liam’s eyelids flutter as Zayn shifts back and moves in such a way that Liam can feel their dicks rub against each other through far too much fabric. and It sparks that twisty place in Liam’s gut because he might yet learn what it’s like to feel the same thing _without_ two pairs of jeans in the way if this continues on the way Liam thinks it’s heading. 

He opens his eyes once Zayn’s mouth continues its path down and he can feel fingers at his chest. Zayn unbuttons his Liam’s shirt and presses his lips on every piece of newly revealed skin. A moan that is loud in the relative quiet of the cabin breaks into Liam’s concentration and he remembers that there were more than just the two of them trapped here while the pilot and his co-pilot buggered off on some tiny goat trail down the mountain for help. He blinks and blinks again because he had thought the boys were watching him and Zayn maybe, or would have commented by now. but it’s It becomes obvious why not they haven’t when he finally sees what they’re up to. Louis is on the floor now, his back propped up slightly by Niall’s bag, his hair all messed up from where Niall has his pale fingers threaded into it. It might have been Niall that who moaned, because from the way his back is sort of arched in Liam’s direction and the complete state of his undress and Louis’ hand just curving around Niall’s arse, he’s being treated to quite the blowjob. It makes Liam look harder, because even though Zayn is now swirling his tongue in tight circles over Liam’s belly button, neither of them are doing whatever _this_ is with their partner in the room. Unlike Louis, who has Harry.

Harry, who appears to have no qualms about the situation at all.

Well, not if what he appears to be doing down on the floor is anything to go by. Harry seems intent on trying out every single one of the flavoured lubes Liam bought whenever he saw something that tickled his fancy (pretty much why the entire bag is in existence, really). He’s got them all lined up on the outside of Louis’ thigh and with this look of total concentration he pours some out on one finger before sinking back down between Louis’ legs. If the angle were a little different Liam is sure he’d be able to see Harry painting Louis’ pucker with the sticky liquid before bending his head further to lick it off. 

It’s probably a good indicator of how into their strange orgy or band’s sexual exploration _thing_ that’s going on they are that Liam doesn’t even flinch or get a little weirded out at the sight of one of his best mates being rimmed while the other is getting blown, or the fact that all of them are naked. Well, nearly all of them. Zayn seems to have realised his error in locking Liam’s hands away right now but he isn’t too perturbed, just pushes Liam’s shirt off to the side to get at more of Liam with fingers and tongue and touch that sends out tendrils of heat and need from whenever their skin meets. 

“Wanna do so many things to you, Li,” Zayn whispers against Liam’s ear. He takes the soft pad of Li’s earlobe into his mouth and presses his teeth against flesh that is far too reactive with other parts of his body from that type of touch. “So _many_ , many things.”

And Liam grunts or groans or makes unnameable noises, gripping the bars tighter as he watches Harry sit up, the hand rubbing over his cock making it shiny with—if his nose didn’t fail him —the kiwi-strawberry flavoured lube. Liam is actually aware of that one. He might have opened it a few nights back when he was bored and horny and had been thinking about Danielle when she put her fingers _up there_ and how some guys liked it in porn, so maybe he should try practicing on himself. In case the opportunity ever arose on tour or something. Now he’s a little proud he gave in to that little experience because Zayn is pushing his thighs apart and sucking a bruise onto Liam’s hipbone, and Liam can’t even remember when Zayn had shifted back down his body again. 

Harry’s licking over red and pouty lips as he turns his attention to Liam and Zayn on the bed. He kind of blinks lazily before giving Liam a half smile as he continues to palm at his dick which, at this short distance, Liam can see is leaking a little precome from the tip. “Spare a pillow? The angle’s not that great and Lou here isn’t done with Nialler yet.” 

Liam opens his mouth to speak and his wrists bang up against the cuffs he forgot he was wearing in an aborted effort to help Harry out. He manages only to say Zayn’s name in a short burst. Zayn’s knuckles have just come into contact with the head of Liam’s dick, still covered by his pants andprobably leaving a wet patch, if the way Liam feels all hot and sticky inside his jeans is anything to go by. Zayn’s just got the buttons on the fly undone, and when Liam looks down Zayn is looking back up at him through his fringe. He’d not put any product in today and Liam is kind of grateful for that, considering now it gives Zayn this kind of innocent look. Although Liam’s been enjoying having no option to touch, he sort of wants to have his fingers in there, sweeping away the soft hairs to see Zayn’s eyes a little clearer, but he can’t so he curls his fingers down and caresses the fur at his wrists instead. 

Zayn crawls back up Liam’s body, pressing close but not close enough to touch, and Liam breathes all the harder for it because he’s never been good with patience in circumstances like these. When he fucks, he does it because he means it, wants it, and it’s sort of like he loses all sense of patience, and want takes over any sort of need to slow things down. Danielle has been different, though, and the tying-up thing has calmed that side of him down a lot. But with Zayn, it’s like he can’t get enough. His hips rock upwards of their own accord and his back arches—the whole movement like he’s trying to do “The Worm” dance move whilst lying on a bed. Zayn just smirks and hovers above him, his face bent low so Liam is breathing Zayn in as their eyes lock. Liam whimpers a little because Zayn is _just_ out of reach. Liam may pout a little when he reaches up twice to feel Zayn’s lips on his, only to be rewarded with thin air. He can hear Harry laughing off to the side and then a “Thanks, mate” before Zayn smiles and _finally_ snogs Liam good and proper. 

Liam is pulling at his restraints as Zayn’s hand slips between them, teasing one nipple and then the other with a sharp pinch and brush of blunt nails as he draws patterns on Liam’s heated skin. It’s down and down again and Zayn’s tongue in his mouth and Liam can’t even move his legs properly from where Zayn has left Liam’s jeans bunched at his knees. He just _wants_ to feel so much and Zayn is dragging this out, making everything he _does_ do mean something. Liam’s panting hard by the time Zayn’s fingertips curve around the shape of his length. Just the mere touch over thin cotton is doing all these _things_ to Liam’s insides; it’s like nothing else and everything great ever all rolled into one. It’s worse again, sending a great shiver down Liam’s spine, when Zayn’s teeth nip at his jaw before his voice is hot against Liam’s cheek.

“They want you to watch.” Liam’s eyelids flutter before his eyes flick to the side and he can see that Zayn’s right. Niall has moved so he’s sort of straddling Louis’ face, one hand curled around Harry’s hip and the other wrapped tight around Lou’s dick as Harry fucks into Louis all long, deep strokes. Harry’s mouth might be preoccupied with Niall’s, but their faces are tilted somewhat to the side so Liam can see their eyes, glassy with emotion as they stare at _him_ like he’s the most important thing in the world right now. Even Louis, who’s got both hands on Niall’s arse cheeks, pulling them obscenely wide as he moves in close, tongue appearing now and again as he leans back to breathe, turns a little to look at Liam. 

When Louis catches Liam looking this time, he grins and winks. “Enjoying the show, are we?” he says, and his voice is all wrong. He sounds all raw and deep—fucked out, even. Liam feels a new surge of lust or affection as he remembers that fucked-out is probably the correct term, considering all he’s heard (from a very drunk Harry) about Louis’ deep throat skills and, well, Niall was just on the receiving end of that. 

He has to close his eyes. His answer of “Why, yes, actually” is swallowed up by a groan because Zayn has used the few moments when Liam was distracted by the literal porn show on the floor beside them to do away with the rest of Liam’s clothing. Well, apart from his shirt, but that’s been pushed to the side and when Liam does open his eyes again it’s to Zayn tugging his own off over the back of his head. Liam’s teeth catch in his bottom lip, pressing deep because he’s always thought Zayn was beautiful. Sort of ethereal, really, with his warm colouring and his dark eyes and those eyelashes. But it’s when the man is undressing, his muscles rolling with movement under tan skin, that it really hits Liam how _pretty_ Zayn is. Not that he’d say that. He’s content to just watch; the handcuffs make a distinct sound above him as he settles and notes every one of Zayn’s inked marks come on display. The way the line of his spine curves while he pulls his jeans off from his feet and then straightens up and walks over to where Harry and Niall are just resting foreheads, too far gone to even kiss any more. 

Zayn puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry leans in, rubbing his cheek on Zayn’s skin, but it’s hidden mostly by his sweat-drenched curls. Niall blinks slowly as he looks up at Zayn with these wide eyes and then Zayn’s kissing Niall with all this tongue on show outside their mouths and Liam’s cock jerks, precome spilling down the side. Liam’s watched gay porn. He’s watched a few threesomes involving men and women, but this—nothing has prepared him not only for the way his dick enjoys this but his heart swells with seeing his friends—people he loves—act with such care and devotion, almost. Zayn bends to one side, his fingers scratching lightly over Lou’s belly, and it’s only because Liam is paying such close attention to everything Zayn does that he notices the butter-yellow line that circles Louis’ shaft. 

Louis is wearing the cock ring with the lion on it that Liam bought on a snap decision, seeing it in the “related products” column when he was ordering more of his favourite water-based lubricant. He _might_ have bought it because it reminded him a little of Simba and he thought Danielle would get a kick out of it, but now he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to use it because of how _hot_ Louis looks in it. His cock is flushed and red and so _hard_ when it twitches as the back of Zayn’s hand brushes lightly against the shaft. It explains how he’s able to eat Niall out and have Harry fuck him the way he is without having come yet. Liam’s hips lift from the thought alone, his body seeking friction but finding nothing because Zayn still has Harry nuzzling into his touch until he straightens, a familiar black bottle in his free hand. 

He presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s head before sending a smirk Liam’s way, shaking the bottle in his fingertips. “Feels a bit empty, this one.” Liam gulps because—well. He is only human.

“It’s my favourite,” he stammers. It’s the first time he’s managed more than a breathy word since all of this started. Zayn is biting at his own lip; it shouldn’t look that hot, but it does. Zayn nods, clambering onto the bed and kneeing his way over to Liam before pushing at Liam’s thighs so he can sit back on his heels between them.

“Quite the bag of supplies you have there, Li.” He nods over his shoulder as he sets the bottle down somewhere on the bed beside him. He runs both his hands up and down Liam’s thighs. “What’s it all for, hmm?” 

His thumbs curl the smallest amount over Liam’s skin and it sends these electric pulses—currents, really—through Liam’s body. Liam moans softly, his wrists straining against the fluffy-covered metal restraints. “Danielle, me— _oh, Christ_ , me—mostly me.”

Zayn grins and tilts his head to the side. He bends down close and Liam can feel yet another bruise forming on the opposite hip bone from the biting and suction that Zayn presses into his flesh. Liam tries really hard not to thrash about; he can barely stop himself from bucking up because it feels so _good_ , and all this talk and watching Harry and Lou and Niall is like the _worstbest_ foreplay and he just . . . he just _needs_ Zayn to do more.

“Liam,” Zayn says against his skin. More kisses here and there and his tongue and teeth interrupt the words. “Are you a little bit into kinky things?” 

And Liam isn’t sure how—because he _knows_ most of his blood supply right now is sort of centrally located in the south of his body—but his face flushes with heat. “A little, maybe?” He lets out a long, low, “Fuck!” when Zayn squeezes his cock at the base with a little more pressure than Liam would have thought he’d start with.

“Sort of. I mean— _oh_ —I’m experimenting?” he finishes, his confession almost tumbling from his mouth in a way that he hopes answers any further questions Zayn might have because Zayns tongue licking a broad stripe from the base of his cock up to the tip is kind of rendering him unable to think much deeper than that.

Zayn nods, his lips just a breath away from the crown of Liam’s cock when he speaks again, staring straight into Liam’s eyes. “That’s not what this is, you know. Not for us. We want you, Li. I want you.” Zayn almost whispers the last part and his eyes soften and Liam thinks, “Yes, yes, I want this, all of you, you, you, you,” and hopes he conveys that with a look of his own. His fingers twitch. He longs to just cup the side of Zayn’s cheek, rub his thumb across the curve of his jaw and _feel_.

Stupidest idea ever, really, buying those damn handcuffs.

Then his brain shorts out or something goes completely out of balance, because Zayn’s eyes flood with warmth as he slides his lips down and over Liam’s length and doesn’t stop until his nose is pressed up against Liam’s stomach and Liam can feel the tight squeeze of Zayn’s throat. He gasps, calling out Zayn’s name, and gives in to how _good_ this feels because he knows _this_. He’s been given head before, many times by girls and that one time with Maz when they were really _really_ and Andy had passed out. But this? This is different. It probably has to do with Harry’s voice in the background chanting out “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ” and Niall grunting in that way that Liam knows from being on tour means he’s getting off. It could have to do with how when Liam rolls his head to the side because of everything being _too much_ he catches sight of Lou biting at his lip, eyes on Harry as his fingers shift in and out between Niall’s thighs and his hand jerks back and forth over Niall’s cock. Then it’s a blur as Niall’s hips jerk, painting Harry’s stomach and thighs and even Lou’s stomach with copious amounts of come. 

Liam’s heart is pounding in his ears as he manages to focus back in on Zayn and how Zayn has actually stopped. He hears Zayn humming, something along the lines of confusion or shock. Liam looks down and notices the pinch to Zayn’s brow and he realises that Zayn has shifted one of Liam’s legs up, bent at the knee, and he’s staring between Liam’s legs and, oh.

_Oh._

“I just—it was new and it was only supposed to be a short flight and I was going to see Dani tonight and _ohmygod_.” Liam closes his eyes tight, not wanting to look at Zayn or hear Harry asking what’s going on and Lou complaining that it’s his turn to come and, and . . . . Zayn still says nothing.

“Harry, I think I found that sparkly plug you were missing.”

And Liam is back to wanting to die. Die, die, _die_.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I mean I _did_ mean, I just—it was there and I was curious!” Liam spouts, all from behind closed eyes. He pulls on the restraints his hands are in because he just wants to _hide_ (and/or die of embarrassment afterwards—or during). But he can’t hide and he begs Zayn, “Please, _pleasepleaseplease_!” shaking in the cuffs—shaking all over, really. 

Then Zayn is there. Liam can smell him above him, feel his hands warm and reassuring against Liam’s chest and then his arms, wrists, and Liam is free. He’s murmuring all these soft things that are probably placations, soothing Liam’s nerves that have frayed simply because of the situation he’s found himself in. This is worse than the lads finding the bag; this is worse than Zayn and his kisses and finding out that the bag was mostly his girlfriend’s idea. This is actually something Liam feels a little ashamed of, because—well, because it’s what started everything, really. 

Not management.

Not Niall and kissing and octopuses or long eyelashes.

Not fingers in strange places—no, this began a little before that.

All it took was an offhand tweet from Harry to a mate about a lost sparkly dildo and Liam happening upon a purple sparkly butt plug on the counter in Harry’s bathroom and Liam pocketing it before he knew what he was doing. He was a curious person by nature. He loved learning, even if he wasn’t good at spelling or math or a lot of studious things. He liked to _know_ stuff. So when he noticed Harry and Lou getting closer and he heard Harry talking about anal sex and giving as well as receiving, his mind started to wander and his finger might have slid between his legs a few times and it _did_ get him off fast. But he’d never done anything with his little stolen article. He’d touched it sometimes, pulled it out from where he’d buried it in three pairs of socks in the empty space under the very bottom compartment of his bedside drawers. This was before Danielle and before she showed him sex was more than just an “in and out” and there were more _things_ for him to learn, to try and understand. 

So when she’d mentioned he should experiment, it might have been the first thing to go into the bag he used to carry around with his laptop and extra batteries and power bars for Niall and eye drops for Harry and Panadol for Lou and chewing gum for Zayn (in the vain hope of tempting him away from smoking). All these little things he’d started hauling around for the boys slowly lost their place as a new flavour of lube he’d see or a set of anal beads in graduating sizes showed up, or the cat-o’-nine tails he thought felt nice when he ran the leather thongs through his fingers found a place. Yet the little plug was always what he came back to. Always what he’d sit and roll in his fingers when he and Danielle only had time for a quick text or a short chat on the phone. 

He’d completely forgotten that he’d put it in earlier. When he woke up this morning and knew they had a late flight he didn’t attempt to get rid of his morning wood quickly or will it away like he sometimes did when they were out and busy and being all “public”. He took a long time opening himself up with the lube Zayn had just asked about, and he took an even longer time pushing the plug in and out and bringing himself to a fantastic climax before Paul knocked on the door to check whether he was up and getting ready to go. So he’d pushed the thing back in, delighted at how it made him feel a little bit naughty—not the responsible, respectable Liam Payne they all made him out to be. He sent off a quick cheeky text to his girlfriend and that was that. A few hours in a plane and then another getting rid of the boys before he could have Dani alone, and it would have been fine.

But then the plane and the storm and fucking _Pablo_.

Maybe it was Pablo’s fault, then.

“Liam, babes.” Zayn presses kisses to his fingertips, rubbing soft circles into that space between the tendons in the middle of his wrist. Liam can feel himself calming, the bubbles of fear/nerves/shame dissipating with Zayn’s touch, and then there’s a hand in his hair, stroking through with blunt nails scratching at his scalp, and Liam leans into that, too. There are lips on his shoulder and warmth encompasses him from every side, and he knows without looking that he’s surrounded by them all. His mini freak-out—or maximum freak-out, as it feels like to him—has stopped whatever the other three were up to. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does to have everyone’s attention. 

But it does feel good. Liam’s shakes lessen as their soft voices and warm touches bring him back down, fold him back in until all he _can_ feel is safe and wanted and cared for. Harry is whispering at his ear that it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, as Zayn leans in and brushes his lips against Liam’s. There are no more chances to apologise; he doesn’t think Harry cares anyway, because Zayn is deepening their kiss, and Louis, who’s tucked himself tight against Liam’s side, has his hand sliding in between where Zayn is hovering over him and is scratching swirl-like patterns over Liam’s chest. He might gasp a little into Zayn’s mouth when Louis’ nails scrape over his nipple, but if anything, it focuses everyone’s attention. 

For a beat, for this space of a breath in and out, nothing happens. Everyone stills and there’s only the wind outside rattling the frames, the _clickfizzclick_ of the light above, a pop of a log in the fire, a quiet “Que?” from Pablo, and then everything happens at once.

Harry’s lips _are_ as soft as Liam had thought they would be. He kisses Liam like no one else is there; he does use his teeth a little excessively but it’s nothing Liam is going to worry about. Not while Louis is bending in close and sucking mark after mark into Liam’s collarbones and then nipping at his skin before soothing it with his tongue. Then there’s Niall, who’s crept down the bed toward where Zayn is shifting Liam’s legs apart again; and he’s got his hand under Liam’s knee, pulling his thigh back and back as Zayn tugs at the little plug, twisting it slowly as Liam moans into Harry’s mouth. Zayn does it again and again until Liam can’t kiss Harry any more because he’s begging Zayn, whimpering really, for more. 

Louis hand is running lightly up and down the inside of Liam’s forearm and Harry is panting at Liam’s brow as Zayn pauses between them all. He looks at Liam and it’s darker than anything before. Liam swallows hard because he knows what this is. He knows that Zayn could fuck him or he could get him off with his mouth and fingers inside, where it’s all loose from the plug, and maybe even Niall would suck him at the same time. But he knows why they’ve stopped, and it’s up to him.

“Only if you want to,” Zayn says, with an added nod from Niall. Liam breathes and this is something more, it’s something he’s let himself think about a few times when having a wank and it’s always been Zayn or sometimes Harry because he’s had enough one on one lunches with Lou to know about Harry’s prowess in fucking. The thing is, even with Danielle’s permission and her prompting him to explore, he still never thought it would happen.

He never thought he’d be stuck on the side of a mountain with his best mates and a bag filled with sex toys and a manager who could only whisper one word in Spanish, either, so . . .

“YOLO,” he mutters, and Niall’s wicked laugh breaks the moment. Liam feels like his face could tear in two from how wide his smile is. Until his mouth drops open because Zayn’s got the plug out and his fingers—not even one to start with but _two_ —are inside, and it’s a _lot_ different from his own or anything plastic being in there. 

Niall takes one look at him, presses a kiss to his chest, and then it’s Niall’s mouth sucking life back into Liam’s prick from when he’d softened a little earlier, lips tight over his teeth to protect Liam from his braces. Then it’s Harry kissing him once more and Louis’ lips against his ear, whispering things that aren’t as dirty and filthy as they could be because he’s basically giving Liam a run-down on what’s going on.

“Fuck, Li. Niall looks so good with your big dick in his mouth. I bet it feels good, too—Harry could tell you it does. He blew Haz last night while I fucked our Nialler from behind. I think Zayn was watching on the chair. He was a bit put out that you weren’t there. We did want you with us, we always want you, but—” and Lou shudders and the talking stops for a moment. 

“Haz, please, please can we take this off? It’s not fair that everyone’s come but me!” Louis whines as Harry laughs against Liam’s lips. 

“Cute, by the way,” Harry says with a nod at the little yellow lion that sticks up obscenely at the base of Lou’s cock. Then Harry is kissing Liam’s cheek as he reaches over to where Louis is holding his cock in hand, and Liam doesn’t think, just bats them both out of the road and wraps his own hand around it instead. 

“Not everyone,” he says after clearing his throat, and then everything stills again (apart from Lou’s pouting). 

“Niall,” Zayn whispers, his tone deep and thick sort of like it is in the mornings sometimes. Niall stops his slow tugs on Liam’s dick to rummage around on the floor where all the lubes are still lined up and comes back with a condom in hand. Liam takes a deep breath because this is his last obvious out. He could say no and Niall would probably go back to sucking him off and Zayn would probably go back to fingering him, maybe even adding his tongue down there, and Liam could wank Lou off while kissing Harry. Or it could go another way and another—or Liam could just stop thinking and let it happen.

Which is what he decides to do in the long run.

He wants this, wants to have this with his boys and feel as cherished and wanted as they already make him feel, but this will take it to another level. He wants to have this, this thing between them, and even if it doesn’t happen again—he wants it for now.

So he breathes out—not even realising all this time he’d been holding it in—and offers a simple “Please.”

It all happens pretty quickly after that. Niall is stroking him again and Liam is trying to match his pace with his fingers curled into a fist around Louis, and Harry is just—well, Harry is everywhere with his mouth and his hands and then Zayn is there, too, and it’s. 

Wow.

Zayn’s _right there_ and he’s somehow worked up to three or so fingers, by the feel of things, before he sends Niall off for the condom. But this . . . this is different. Not a bad different, but a strange one nonetheless as Zayn carefully and slowly presses in. Harry’s mouth catches Liam’s at the exact moment Zayn pauses, giving Liam a moment to get used to it before he slides all the way in. 

Then wow isn’t even a word to cover how Liam feels.

He’s surrounded by touch and feel and love, and then there’s Zayn and he’s _inside_ and Niall’s tongue and Louis’ hand is _gripping_ Liam’s shoulder and Harry is nipping at the skin around Liam’s nipple and then Zayn _moves_.

He pulls out slowly and pushes back in and it’s—it’s good. Really good and different. But it burns and hurts a bit, too. Liam’s prepared for that. Knows that it’s his body getting used to having something _in_ where mostly it’s an _out_. But then he’s also got Niall with his hollowed cheeks and tongue doing _things_ to the slit of his prick, and, well—it’s not like his body has much of a choice but to ignore the slight hurt and focus on the pleasure that’s going on everywhere else. Zayn begins to chant his name, gripping Liam’s thighs from where he’s got his elbows under Liam’s knees to keep him spread and open, and he shifts back or does _something_ because the angle changes and . . . .

“Oh, fuck!” 

That’s the spot, all right. And now that Zayn knows what he’s aiming for it’s just this constant _rub_ on the inside, this delicious drag of Zayn’s cock that has the heat in the base of Liam’s spin curling up and out, and he needs more and asks for it with a flick of his wrist over the flushed and wet head of Louis’ dick. Pleads into Harry’s lips, as Harry has this uncanny way of copying the perfect in and out of Zayn below with his tongue in Liam’s mouth, and then with a slight buck of his hips up into Niall’s mouth.

And he gets what he wants because things shift, they all move in just the slightest of ways, and Zayn is _fucking_ him hard and it’s too much. Much too much.

Everything is slippery under his touch. All their skin is either covered in sweat or lube or some type of bodily fluid and Liam can’t get a grip, can’t get hold of anything and he’s slipping into this brilliant haze, this fog of perfect feeling, and he should be worried but he can’t be. Not when Louis is nearly incoherent with a mix of Harry and Liam’s names and “Off, off, _gettitoff!_ ”

Not when Niall is humming down there as he takes Liam in deep and holds it and holds it until he comes off with a splutter, then does it all again. 

And not when Zayn is just silent apart from the odd grunt and moan that Liam matches because his thighs are shaking. This whole thing since they found the bag has been foreplay—an amazing lead-up to now—and as much as Liam wants it to go on because it feels _amazing_ , it has to end because he _needs_ to come. ,  
Harry ends up knocking Liam’s hand from where he’s sort of just holding Louis while he watches Zayn, sweat dripping from his floppy hair that sticks to his face only to fall forward again with every thrust of Zayn’s hips. Then Louis is near sob-sighing beside him and Liam just makes out the little yellow cock ring flying through the air towards Pablo as Harry takes Louis in hand, and Liam has a fleeting thought of just how messy this is about to get.

Then Louis’ spine curves back and back as Harry drags his thumb down Louis’ slit and Louis is coming in thick, hot stripes over Liam’s chest, and it sets off a chain reaction, really. Next thing Liam knows he’s lost sight of Zayn because his orgasm hits him out of nowhere—not even time for a polite tug on Niall’s hair as a warning—but Niall has him down his throat anyway, so Niall swallows and it’s _so tight_ that Liam thinks his cock may never be the same again. Then Zayn is leaning forward, the others having fallen backward onto the mattress in a sticky pile. Zayn has Liam’s legs hiked up around his waist and his mouth is just above Liam’s as he pants and Liam can _finally_ really touch Zayn. He runs his fingers over Zayn’s face, his red cheeks, his sweat-covered brow, and his hair that is still soft and flimsy to Liam’s fingertips. He cups Zayn’s face in his hand and kisses him slow and sweet because he wants Zayn to understand that it’s more than just “a thing to try” when it comes to him. It’s more because Zayn is one of his closest friends and he knows Zayn has some sort of extra feelings for him because Liam has the same in return. It doesn’t matter that they both have girlfriends—and wow, Liam didn’t even factor Perrie into this, but he figures maybe she and Zayn have the same sort of deal as he and Danielle do—because this is _them_ and in the end, it’s all that _will_ matter.

“Come on,” he whispers, his voice utterly wrecked and raw from all the noises that have been pulled out of him tonight. Zayn just presses their foreheads together and sucks in his breath before he thrusts deep into Liam three more times, falling on top of him on the last one.

Nothing is said for a long while. Everyone is just trying to catch their breath. Liam just listens to his heartbeat, imagines he can hear Zayn’s, too. And Harry’s and Louis’ and Niall’s, and he doesn’t even try to figure out what the effects of this night will be in the long run.

Zayn eventually moves, holding himself as he pulls out, and with a quick twisted knot he throws the condom in some direction before lying down beside Liam, resting his head on Liam’s chest. It’s not too much later when Niall creeps over to curl up behind Zayn but reaches over to grab Liam’s hand in his. Liam squeezes it gently, blinking slowly because he’s absolutely shattered and hasn’t got the energy for the “Thanks, Nialler, that was probably the best blowjob I’ve ever been given—and that’s including the girl who had a bunch of Tic Tacs under her tongue that time for a hot and cold effect.” Then the octopus twins are all hands and knees and sharp elbows on Liam’s free side, but still affectionate under it all. When Liam finally gives in to sleep, it’s in the best of naked puppy piles that every fangirl ever has dreamt about. 

(And maybe Liam has a little, too, if he’s being honest).

. . .

The next morning, it should be awkward. It should be weird and strange that they’re all naked and sticky and in some cases stuck together in strange places. It should be even more embarrassing when Liam hears Pablo asking, “Just what the hell is going on, and why is everyone but me naked?” 

“Nice one, Li,” is all Louis says, affection in his tone, after Liam throws the bottle of lube that somehow ended up under his pillow in the general direction of Pablo. He must have hit his mark, because the only other thing they hear out of Pablo until much later when they wake up and get dressed _minutes_ before the search party arrive is one word.

“Que?”

[fin]


End file.
